


The Case of the Jaded Detective

by FluffySherlollyFan119



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunk Molly, Drunk Sex, Drunk Sherlock, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealous Sherlock, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, My First Smut, Naughty Sherlock, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffySherlollyFan119/pseuds/FluffySherlollyFan119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock Holmes has to try and solve perhaps the biggest mystery he has ever yet to face - jealousy and sentiment!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone so this is my first fan-fic and I have decided to tackle smut. I hope you like it :) oh and thanks to my good friends for proofreading for me - I love you guys!

_Oh GOD was he BORED!_

It had been exactly 7 days since he and John had gone out for the doctor’s stag night and he hadn’t seen the man since, nor had there been any calls or messages from Lestrade requesting his help on a case, and all the clients who had sent him e-mails on his site or visited his flat had mind-numbingly boring cases – even more so than usual. He needed something to dull his senses just a little bit.

 _NO!_ He screamed at himself from inside his own head. _You can’t think like that. The last time you did you ended up nearly overdosing and Mycroft had to bail you out of trouble. You don’t want to give him that satisfaction do you?_

He stood up and grabbed his violin from where it had been resting on the table next to his armchair. The moment the bow met the strings a shrill, yet extremely sweet sound filled the air. It was very rarely that he played to take his mind off things. Usually he did it to shut everything else out and help him focus on the task at hand, but today he simply let his hands and heart do the playing while he let his mind wander with the music, carefully memorising the notes in case he wanted to compose later, focusing on the uncharacteristically bright light of late London morning outside the window.

After what seemed like mere minutes he heard a knock at the door and looked up to see darkness in the street outside, broken only by the occasional orange glow of the streetlights. He turned around to see Molly holding an organ box, obviously filled with the body parts he had asked for the night before only to find that she had already gone home and so had rather reluctantly agreed to wait until the next day for her to deliver them to him.

“Ah! Molly, wonderful!” He said in his most welcoming voice. He was rather grateful for the company even if she wasn’t John. Then again, she didn’t need to be, she was Molly. She admired his intelligence as much as John did, but was equally as intelligent in all the different ways that counted. He smiled at the thought. “Tea?” he asked trying to drag out her staying a bit longer knowing that she would leave the moment she handed over the parts.

“Hi, Sherlock” she answered, a bit surprised at his unusually warm welcome. “Ah, yeah sure, I can’t stay long though.” She clarified as she made her way inside the flat and settled the cooler down on the only free space on the kitchen table.

“Why?” He was upset and almost felt his lower lip jutting out in a pout but managed to control himself, though not before Molly saw if he had read her smile right. It was then that he noticed the slight increase in make up over her usually much cleaner face and her pink floral chiffon dress under her coat versus the frankly silly jumpers she usually wore which did nothing to flatter her figure. Her hair was also flowing in soft curls around her shoulders. Sherlock stopped himself from staring for too long opting instead to focus on making the tea he had promised her.

“Well, I’m going out for drinks with some friends from work.” She answered the detective still smiling at the thought that he wanted her around. Molly was no Sherlock but even she knew what that pout had meant. “Greg and Phillip are going to be there too; maybe you’d like to join us.”

“Greg and Phillip?” Sherlock asked. From her inclination he guessed that Molly thought he should know who they were.

Molly rolled her eyes at him, laughing as she opened up the fridge John had insisted on calling the _food-fridge_ , releasing small clouds as the cold air mixed with the warm atmosphere of the kitchen. “Lestrade and Anderson.” She said explaining. “We go to the pub down the road about once every two weeks when all of us have Friday nights off. Usually John and Mary join us but they’re busy with wedding things so they're giving it a miss tonight.”

“Oh.” Was all he said, upset once again. _Stupid sentiment!_ He thought. _Why should you be upset that they never invited you? You always treated Molly like she didn’t matter. It’s why Moriarty never targeted her and she could help you._ The nagging voice was back again – it usually talked a lot when he was bored but he pushed the memory of two years ago away. He didn’t want to think of what might’ve happened had Moriarty actually tried to target Molly.

 _STOP! Moriarty’s dead. He can’t get to her now. She’s safe, all of them are._ He fought hard to bury the thoughts away in his mind palace again, to lock them up in the dark room at the back, and fought hard to lose the key amongst all the other knick-knacks and memories up in his palace.

“Sherlock?” Molly asked pulling him away from his thoughts. He heard a distant whistling and noticed that it was the kettle coming to a boil. He watched as Molly came around the table and found them two mugs and fixed tea for the both of them. “Anything unusual?” she asked as she poured the steaming water over the tea bags.

“Hmmm?”

“I know that look. You were thinking about something very hard. Is it a new case?” he loved it when Molly was curious about his work. _Love?_ He sneered at the thought in his head.

“No. Actually I have nothing to do, and I am BORED!” he dramatically threw his head back in anguish on the last word dragging it out to show how truly tedious he was finding everything today. Molly had to stifle a giggle at that one. Sherlock looked back down at his pathologist and smiled longingly at her.

“What?”

“I don’t think I've ever heard you laugh like that.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise. I like it.”

“So do you want to come to the pub or not?” She asked handing him the mug with tea just the way he liked it, a little milk and two sugars.

“Considering Anderson is going to be there, I feel I must accompany you to stop you from dying from the man’s idiocy, and it would be nice to see Lestrade again.” He lied.

The truth was that he did not want sweet, innocent Molly around the two of them since they had both just recently split from their wives and had, on more than one occasion, shown signs of attraction towards his Molly. _Don’t be silly, she’s not yours._ And he frankly thought that neither one of them was worthy of Molly, especially Anderson who had actually been the one who cheated in his relationship.

 _Neither are you._ Mycroft’s jaded voice said in his usual patronising way from somewhere in his head. He took a sip from his tea and almost scalded his tongue.

“Let me go change.” He told the pathologist who raised her eyebrows at him and he in return simply sighed and rolled his eyes.

He went down the hall and into his bedroom. He threw both doors of the closet wide open and mused for a few seconds – He wanted to make the most out of the situation, since she probably wasn’t likely to invite him anywhere ever again. He suddenly remembered Molly’s fiance. Was he going to be there tonight? What was his name? Ted? Tim? Yes, Tim! Ugh!

 _It’s obvious she hasn't moved on as much as she would like you to think._ Sherlock smiled at the thought. _I mean he looks just like you!_ His own voice comforted him.

 _No, you are much handsomer!_ He thought of a smiling Molly as she said those words, her breath catching like it usually did when he wore – _Yes! The purple shirt, she likes that one!_

Back in his room he reached into his wardrobe to pull out the shirt and took off the one he was currently wearing. As he buttoned it up, he noticed that it was just slightly small.

 _That’s why she likes it!_ He suddenly realized, smiling an extremely cocky smile at his reflection in the mirror. He surveyed his shirt, deciding to undo the first two buttons, showing off his neck and the top of his chest, which according to a conversation between Molly and one of her co-workers which he had rudely –and quietly - eavesdropped on, made Molly think very inappropriate thoughts about the detective.

He looked into the wardrobe again, trying to decide whether he should change his trousers or not, he looked down noticing a currently unidentifiable mark – _Mud? –_ at one of the hems. Yes, he would need to change but into what? What did she like? _Oh, for God’s sake, wear the dark jeans; she likes those so much more than those silly slacks you wear._ His own voice commanded.

 _They’re not silly._ Molly’s laugh rang out in his head again. Ugh, this was insane! He was insane! He was arguing with himself over clothes of all things. He dramatically waved his arms around as if to swat the childish thoughts away.

_Wear the grey suit jacket, and don’t forget your coat! And turn up that collar; she thinks it’s sexy when you do that._

“As if you need to tell me” he muttered to himself in the silent bedroom. He finished dressing and went out to the kitchen again, feeling very pleased with himself when he caught Molly holding her breath as she spotted him in his attire. He noticed that her eyes lingered for a second on his too tight shirt and then again on his well-fitting jeans. She had finished her tea, and he chose to ignore his.

“How’s Tim?” he asked feigning interest, he was searching, looking – possibly hoping – for clues that they had broken up.

“Tom.” She corrected.

“Ah, yes him. Still having a lot of sex?” he asked in reference to a conversation that they had had about two weeks before.

Molly blushed and smiled but answered confidently. “Yes, actually we are, though he’s gone to visit his parents for the week, so…” she let the end of the sentence trail off, leaving Sherlock to make his own deductions like he always did. It wasn’t exactly a deduction but suddenly he imagined Molly Hooper lying alone in the middle of a four poster bed and he felt a strange urge to do something about that.  

He felt anger in the back of his head that had a protective edge to it. He couldn’t quite describe it, oh who was he kidding. He had no idea of what it could be and it made him angrier. He didn’t know and he didn’t like it.

“Right, shall we make a move on then?” He asked stepping forward to collect Molly’s coat from the back of a chair which she had apparently laid it on. He held it open for her as she glided her arms into the sleeves; he gently placed it on her shoulders and ever so lightly pulled her hair from under it making sure to brush his fingers softly on the back of her neck. He was immediately rewarded when he noticed a slight shiver of Molly’s body underneath her coat.

He stepped forward and crossed the room in two long strides, reaching for his own Belstaff that hung on the back of the front door. In one swift move he took his blue scarf and black leather gloves out of one of the pockets where he regularly kept them and put them on before making a bit of a show of putting on the coat, turning to look Molly straight in the eyes as he raised his collar up. He enjoyed the fact that her left ring finger, ever so slightly twitched, as if to remind her of the offending ring. If he had anything to say about it he would rip the cheap rock off her finger and throw it down a sewer, so as to be able to replace it with a real gem, something she truly deserved.

Instead he smiled and indicated the door to Molly while he held it open for her.

He had a feeling John Watson would have approved of his actions.


	2. The Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock performs a naughty experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the amazing support and comments and all the Kudos - especially from my friends - your support means a lot to me, and for those of you who thought that the first chapter (and the tags) showed a dark side to me wait until you read this chapter.

They walked to the pub as it was close to his flat. And within minutes they were at the pub. He noticed that Lestrade and Anderson were very visibly upset when they saw him walking into the bar behind Molly, with her announcing“Look who I managed to drag out of his lair” with a laugh. They had all three laughed along with her, Lestrade and Anderson – _No, Graham and Peter, she thinks they’re your friends, can you at least try and act a little sociable? –_ The voice in his head had taken a rather John-like quality to it now. They had both welcomed him as if he regularly joined them at the local, and he had feigned an enthusiastic response by patting Graham – no, Gavin – on the back of his shoulder. He had to admit he actually did like the Detective Inspector but he still thought that Anderson – _Paul? –_ was an idiot.

They took their turns buying rounds, beer usually, but on each of her turns Molly would buy herself – and eventually Sherlock as well – something stronger. Sherlock tried to keep a straight head while they were drinking, all the while keeping his eye on the two other men who were continuously flirting with the attractive pathologist. _Since when do you recognize beauty brother?_ Mycroft again, he frowned, he wanted John back, at least he understood. _Focus on those two!_  

He forced himself out of his, now slightly-blurred, thoughts. He eventually managed to convince himself that they were harmless. Even if they were flirting shamelessly, they were unsuccessful, with Molly simply returning their compliments as politely and platonically as possible, while a small part of his mind wondered if he would get the same response, if he tried brushing her thigh as Anderson had done a few minutes ago.  _Well, go ahead then. It’s not like you don’t like experimenting and observing the results._

As luck would have it one of Molly’s friends chose that particular moment to come sit next to him on the couch, which meant he had to slide in closer to Molly to allow her to join them at the table. As he did so he took the opportunity to brush the outside of her knee all the way up to her hip with the back of his hand. He was graciously awarded a slight whimper from Molly, who quickly composed herself in order to introduce her friend to the three men. _Right, that was good. Now what?_  He questioned himself. How could he get Molly to notice him?

“Sherlock, this is Lindsay, she’s a new pathologist at the hospital. Lindsay this is Sherlock, Phillip and Greg.” He took the hand which the young doctor offered into his own and immediately an idea shot into his head. He looked at the woman’s face and noticed the very obvious signs of attraction she shot him, which meant he was safe to try something he would never dream of. He was about to try and make Molly Hooper extremely jealous.

He took Lindsay’s hand – he memorized the name, he needed to get her name right the first time – and raised it slightly towards his lips while bowing his head down ever so slightly over it, all the while keeping his eyes locked with Lindsay’s green ones. Before his lips met her skin, he lowered his voice and spoke his chosen words making sure to weigh them down heavily with every ounce of sexuality he had within him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor.” He whispered and kissed the tops of her fingers, just like that guy from that story written by that woman he recalled distantly, not remembering the name of either the character, story or the author. _Heath-something_ , John said in his head. He had read the signs correctly, as Lindsay simply blushed and giggled.

“Please, call me Lindsay.” She insisted. “And would you mind if I called you Sherlock?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Lindsay” Deliberately keeping his voice slightly lower and speaking her name as if it was a poem by one of the great Laureates of history. He knew what his voice could do to Molly when she was her normal self, let alone when she was ever-so slightly (well, not that slightly) intoxicated. Lestrade suddenly cleared his throat and Sherlock and Lindsay tore their eyes away from each other to look at him.

“I’m getting another round, anyone want anything?” He asked, obviously trying to change the subject and include the rest of them.

“Another beer for me Greg.” Sherlock said, cursing himself for getting his name wrong, but was astonished to learn he had actually gotten it right for once due to the surprised look on Lestrade’s face.

“Vodka-lime for me, thanks, Greg.” Lindsay said, obviously flirting with the Detective Inspector as well, which if he had to be very honest with himself made Sherlock feel a lot better about using her to make Molly jealous since she was obviously using him to meet the same ends with Greg.

“Me too.” Molly answered, obviously not happy that the younger, yet not nearly attractive (especially if you asked Sherlock), doctor was getting all the attention from the men who had been so openly flirting with her just moments before.

Lestrade and Anderson both got up to get the round of drinks, which thankfully left Sherlock alone with the two women. This was his chance, he quickly calculated that he would have to get the next round and then the two women which meant it would be a while before he got this chance again, and even then he couldn’t count on both men accompanying each other to the bar.

He twisted around so that his right arm was resting on the back of the couch behind Lindsay’s back and turned to look at her again, this time sliding gently back towards her so that there was hardly any space left between their bodies. Lindsay turned to look at him, her eyes peeking lustfully beneath her lashes and she bit the inside of her lower lip ever so anxiously as her eyes darted to look down at his which were practically eye level due to the difference in their height. He angled his head precisely and slowly lowered it as he gauged her reactions to see if she would pull away. When she didn’t, he quickly brought their lips together as she raised her body to meet him half way. His left hand slid off the couch and onto her lower back pulling her closer to him. Inside his head he was reeling – the first part of his plan was complete, now to finish what he had started.

Even though they weren’t touching anymore he could sense that Molly had stiffened behind him the moment he had kissed her colleague and he imagined her trying to look away, though she made no attempt at leaving the couch. He reached out his left arm beneath the table and moved it towards where he knew Molly’s legs would be. Slowly he slid backwards towards Molly, pulling Lindsay with him, making absolutely sure that she wasn’t aware of what he was about to do. He found Molly’s knees, he was disappointed to find them practically welded together, so he took her right one and pulled it away, forcefully, inching his hand away from him and along the inside of Molly’s inner thigh. He heard her whimper quietly and he growled in response. All the while Lindsay was still completely unaware of Sherlock’s interaction with Molly and took his growl as a response to her tongue gently pushing its way into his mouth.

Sherlock kept up the act, until he finally found exactly what he had been looking for – the result to his experiment in female reactions. He found the edge of Molly’s knickers, noting thoughtfully that they were made out of lace and very pleasantly noticing that they were quite damp for a woman who was engaged to – well, not him. He prodded the damp area ever so slightly, before he pulled back from both women with a warm feeling in his inner core. No doubt Lindsay had noticed, as did Molly now that he turned to rest his back against the couch again.

“Could you excuse me for a second?” Lindsay said through bated breath and very obviously flushed. “I need to go powder my nose.” She explained as she collected her bag and made her way over to the restrooms on the other side of the pub. Sherlock simply smiled at her in response. 

He turned to Molly, who, he noted gleefully, was blushing. Her cheeks had a rosy glow to them which crept slowly down her neck and under her dress.  _I wonder where it stops._ He heard his own voice whisper in the back of his head.  _What do_ her  _lips taste like?._ As all this was going on in his head, Molly simply looked down at her hands in her lap and then at the table, and back up towards the bar wondering where the rest of their party had gotten to. She was avoiding eye contact.  _hmmm is that good or bad._ he thought. He reached out a hand a put it on her knee to try and salvage the situation. As he did, Molly looked up from the table to meet his eyes. Hers, brown and dilated he happily observed, were questioning.  _  
_

But she immediately snapped her head back as she spotted Greg and Anderson making their way back to the table with 5 glasses. Anderson very tactfully (not) sat down next to Sherlock who again scooted over closer to Molly, who was still blushing very much as she refused to look at Sherlock again who simply smiled knowing that his plan had worked brilliantly. Greg sat down on Molly’s other side across the table from Sherlock and placed a glass of the Vodka mixer on either side of him, one in front of Molly, and the other in front of an empty seat which Lindsay would be occupying again.

Sherlock could tell that Lestrade had had to beg Anderson to sit next to him so that Lindsay would be forced to sit next to the Detective Inspector. Good thing neither one of them had seen the public display Sherlock had just had with both the girls. He smiled as he realized that his plan was working and everyone had been right all along – he could easily be a criminal (or at least a very bad guy) and get away with it.

They kept drinking more and more as the hours ticked by slowly. Lindsay had come back and teased Sherlock from underneath the table without anyone noticing. He had to admit it: the woman had extremely talented toes and if he wasn’t ready to, his body certainly already had. The more he drank the more infatuated he became with Molly and the more he caressed her thighs. At one point he actually thought he had brought the pathologist to her breaking point, but then again he could have been mistaken. It was hard to concentrate with the copious amount of alcohol in his system and hers. 

Anderson eventually left when he saw he wasn’t going to get anywhere with either girl, and after she had tried to make Sherlock jealous by kissing Greg, Lindsay had retired with the Detective Inspector to what Sherlock could only assume was Lestrade’s apartment. That left him and Molly.

At this point, Sherlock knew that he had formulated a plan of how to carry on, but his mind was too numb and all he saw was a rosy aura around Molly which seemed to make her more desirable. He got up and stumbled, pausing to try and regain his balance. Not again. He couldn’t have possibly overdone it with alcohol again. He really did have to find a way to increase his intake level or at the very least be able to control how much he drank around other people. He felt a gentle hand, helping his coat sleeve onto his left arm. He turned around to see Molly looking up at him with one of her lopsided grins.

“I hope you’re happy, Molly. You have succeeded in incapacitating the great Shhhh -erlock Holmes.” He said losing his balance again and nearly falling on a table behind him. Molly simply grabbed two fistfuls of his coat and pulled him forward.

“Come on, genius, let’s get you home.” Molly said giggling at her friend. _Hmmm, friend. Yes she is my friend._

 _A very pretty friend._ His own voice added in his head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... that was his experiment, I will try and post the Results in a week's time, who knows what might happen ;) Hope you guys liked it.
> 
> UPDATE: So I just logged in to see 1000 views... THANKS SO MUCH YOU GUYS - I AM GUSHING!!! HUGS AND KISSES TO ALL


	3. The Result

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and Molly... well... you'll see. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so here it is - the chapter everyone's been waiting for! I'm just gonna leave this here and walk away... Enjoy!

The pub was exactly 2.5 blocks away from the flat, Sherlock remembered hazily, that’s how long he had to hold out, but even Sherlock Holmes couldn’t resist it when Molly took his hand and started giggling like a teenage school girl who had just heard about some scandal or other involving one of the other students. They were only a block away, precisely 9 doors and the intersection between Melcombe Street and the main street. But he couldn’t wait. He wanted – no needed – Molly, right now!

He pulled her towards him and turned her around so that she was pinned against the wall. He bent down and kissed her, forcefully, all sense of caring about her emotions gone. No, he still cared about her emotions, and would stop _if­_ she wanted him to. If she pushed him off, he would wish her goodnight and leave. But that never happened. She didn’t push him off. In fact she brought her hands up to twist in his black curls and tugged a little to pull him closer. Sherlock noted that he felt a very tiny twinge of pain but that it felt good somehow.

His hands trailed down from her shoulders, caressing her small but ample breasts through her dress, he paused there for a while, eliciting a small whimper – or was it a moan? – from her. He continued down pausing at her hips and pulling them forward to meet his. Automatically he felt his own arousal pressing into him as – he was sure – did Molly. They both groaned at the feeling and he knew that his Molly was just as aroused. _Yes, your Molly._ He said. _She’s yours Sherlock. Not Graham’s or Tim’s but yours._

He pulled back and looked down at her. She was smiling at him, urging him to keep going. That was all he needed. That smile was all the encouragement he needed. He took he hand in his and pulled her behind him. He ran the remaining distance to the flat as if his life depended on it, all the while pulling her behind him. He could hear her laugh. It sounded so carefree – he had never heard Molly like this, it was sweeter than any music he had ever composed or played or even heard. His cock got harder at the thought that he had done that – he had put that smile there. He had made her forget about what’s-his-name and made her laugh.

They reached the black wooden door leading into 221B and Sherlock had to reluctantly let go of Molly Hooper’s hand to open the door. He did so and held it for her. She seemed impressed that even drunk, he could still be a gentleman. She kept going straight up the very familiar staircase and stopped at the door to Sherlock’s flat, waiting for him to open it. He did, once more allowing her to enter before him. He grabbed the door and threw it behind him, wanting to shut the entire world out.

He immediately regretted his unneeded force. The door slammed so hard, he swore he could hear Mrs. Hudson downstairs shuffling over to the front door to see what was the matter. He quickly went to both doors leading to the staircase and locked them.

He slowly moved back towards Molly; creeping, almost, shedding his coat and gloves onto the floor. Molly mimicked the gesture and quickly moved forward to remove his scarf and reveal the neck he had heard her refer to as sensual and very kissable. His hands immediately found her hips again and pulled her closer, she breathed heavily against his lips and he smiled at the obvious heat that had made its way to her nether regions.

She entwined her fingers in his hair again; she always had loved his hair, and started playing with the top button of his shirt slowly undoing it, then the next and the next, until eventually he was standing half naked in front of her. With a shrug, he helped the shirt off.

“Sherlock… we can’t do this. You never… you don’t like me, you don’t do this.” She said pulling back slightly to talk.

 

Sherlock simply took her hand and placed it on his abdomen, which, she noted, was very firm and  had those little bumps she found so sexy… oh what did they call them? She tried to concentrate on the words, but lost all control again when she realized Sherlock was sliding her hand down his body, feeling the wave like muscles under her fingers, then the stiff denim of his jeans, the coolness of his belt buckle. He kept pushing her hand down until it brushed the zipper and scratched her hand. She didn’t mind it especially since he had now stopped moving her hand and applied a little pressure over it making her press into him, feeling exactly how much he liked this and her.

Molly nearly gasped at the feeling of his arousal. She couldn’t believe it. Sherlock Holmes was human after all and just as susceptible to emotions as the rest of them. He didn’t give her time to think though. Before she could react to his pressing her hand, he brought her hand back up again, making her look at him directly in the eyes, and for once she was almost scared. It wasn’t that she saw anything but love in his eyes, but it was mixed with a lustful passion so great that she was afraid that he wouldn’t stop until he broke her.

Truthfully, she didn’t care, if she was meant to be broken then Sherlock Holmes was the only one that could do it and in just one way. He turned almost immediately pulling her through the kitchen and into the hallway, pausing just before the bedroom, where he practically rammed her into the wall and pressed their lips together once more. This time she wasn’t going to let him go. With him pressing down on her, she pushed her back against the wall as hard as she could, put both her hands on his shoulders and as if in response his hands pinned her hips to the wall. With a deep breath, Molly pulled herself up and locked her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her, his arousal now just inches away from her entrance, even though she was still completely clothed.

With a growl he pushed back from the wall, nearly falling over due to his still very intoxicated state. With his hands on Molly’s backside, Sherlock regained his balance and focused on moving forward, kicking the door to the bedroom open and carrying Molly over to the bed, when he let himself fall forward, catching himself on the mattress with his arms to avoid crushing her.

His hand found its way easily to the back of her neck and started caressing the flesh there. He could tell from her reactions that she enjoyed this and kept moving down in a straight line until his fingers found what they were looking for.

With great effort, he pulled the zipper in the back of her dress down while she was still lying on her back, raising herself off the mattress slightly to accompany the movements. They were moving in sync, almost like a machine. When the zipper had gone as far as it would go, Sherlock reached back up to her shoulders and gently brushed the light chiffon off and down over the rest of her body leaving her in nothing but her lingerie and heels. He threw the dress somewhere off to the side and bent down. He started with his shoes and socks, taking them off quickly and throwing them somewhere behind his head, then he moved on to hers, undoing the little metal clasps that usually accompanied sling-back heels. True to their name he also slung them back behind his head.

He took her right ankle and placed gentle kisses on it while caressing the left with his fingers. He trailed his way back up her body, studying each muscle and the way she reacted to each gentle touch of his cool long fingers. He had never believed in a higher power – except himself of course – but he thought that if he ever had to bow down before a goddess it would be Molly Hooper. He adored every part of her body the way it deserved to be. He finally reached her thighs, first leaving a trail of steaming, hot kisses on one of her inner thighs then licking the other, until his mouth finally came to rest, hovering over her knickers.

All he remembered was that they wear black and lacy, because as soon as he let a heavy breath escape his lips over them, Molly begged “Sherlock…p-please…” He looked back up at her almost checking if she was sure and then in one fluid movement he hooked his fingers under the band of the offending garment and pushed them down her legs, discarding them as if they were a used tissue – although in all fairness they were just as damp.

He knelt down on the floor, spreading both his hands wide over her abdomen and noticing how delightfully flat it was and then with one jerk, he pulled her hips forward and latched his tongue onto her, dipping it into her folds and teasing her entrance. He used his nose to nudge her swollen clit and Molly bucked into him, urging him deeper. He took that positively and released one of her hips to bring down one of his hands and insert a finger inside her. Molly whimpered at the feeling.

 _Oh God, his fingers are so impossibly long._ She thought while he inserted a second finger and then a third. His mouth found her clit again and starting sucking on her nub, while his fingers curled inside her to find that sweet spot of pleasure.

Molly was incoherent and for once Sherlock couldn’t care less. Through the various moans and whimpers Sherlock kept recognizing a few words.

“Mmm… Sherlock!... Fuck!... Yes!... Don’t. Don’t stop. _PLEEAAASEEEE!”_  She screamed as he brought her ever closer to the sweet release that her fiancé hadn’t obviously been giving her. It was so obvious even a drunk Sherlock Holmes could deduce it. She hadn’t been having any sex with Ted, she was just trying to rile him up, and it had worked, but now he needed to punish her for it. He stopped just as she tensed to let go of it all, and he pulled back so that he stood, watching her lying there.

“ _SHERLOCK… WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!”_ she asked, flustered and in between breaths. He reached over to the bedside table, taking something Molly couldn’t see.

“I’m not ready for you to finish off just yet.” He slurred slightly.

“Well, if you won’t do it, you can just stand there and watch me.” She said assertively. She enjoyed that; she had never been assertive to Sherlock before but goddamit this wasn’t fair, playing her like that, as if she were his violin, driving her to the edge and then refusing to go all the way. She reached her hand down to touch herself but he was too quick for her. He practically lunged forward, taking both her wrists in one of his own and pulling them back over her head.

“Not. So. Fast.” He commanded; his baritone voice almost sounding like venom. He brought his other hand up to unclasp her bra and take it off her. His hand met the rest over Molly’s head and she felt something cold brushing both her wrists and then heard two swift clicks as he looked down at her with another lustful gaze in those mystifyingly haunting blue-green orbs that were his eyes. She made a motion to pull down her arms but found that she couldn’t. She looked up over her head, her eyes almost hurting as she had to roll them back, and to her horror and arousal she found that he had handcuffed her to the headboard.

“I pick-pocketed those off Lestrade earlier when he got boring.” He clarified for her. “Now, what was that you said about you and Tom having ‘quite a lot of sex’?” He teased indicating the quotation marks in the air.

“Oh, alright, we weren’t okay! We did it a few times and he was lousy! But Sherlock… PLEASE.” She begged lifting her hips off the bed and up towards his still very much there jeans, which she frowned at playfully. He stepped back off the bed and did away with the tight jeans which were leaving little to the imagination. Molly nearly gasped at the sight of his hard-on. He took himself in hand and started to stroke slowly. Molly couldn’t take it anymore, she just couldn’t.

“Sherlock…. Please.” She begged. “I need you inside me… now.”

“Not yet, Molly.” He smiled.

“GOD!” she screamed “You are such a fucking tease!”

“I’m not the one who lied about having _quite a lot of sex_ just to make someone jealous, now am I?” Molly groaned at his repetitive use of her quote. She couldn’t stand him. He had been torturing her from day one, first ignoring her, then noticing things and telling her so just to get her to do things for him, then ignoring her again, then getting her hopes up by telling her that he needed her. And the pub, what was the point of him teasing her like that, and now this.

“Sherlock…” she cried, tears actually welling up in her eyes now at the pure need for him. “I need you!” she begged, trying again. He just stood there, looking at her without flinching. _How could he be this cruel? Is he actually even aroused or just pretending too? Can he do that? Isn’t he aching to get inside me?_ She thought, all the while looking at him, standing there, stroking himself. Suddenly he moved forward, positioning himself at her entrance but all the while making sure not to touch her. His fierce eyes met hers and she could now see the need behind the love and the lust, and she felt so guilty for thinking all those things about him. She felt guilty for having ever thought that he didn’t want her.

“Say you’re sorry, Molly.” He demanded

“I’m sorry” she gave in

“What was that?” He said, tapping his fingers on her hips, impatiently, he desperately wanted to smack her, making her submit to him.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock” she said louder bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist.

“For what, Molly?” One hand pinching her pebbled nipples while the other patting viciously on her backside which she had now raised off the bed.

“For lying to you?”

“No.” He brought his hand down hard on her cheek, noting how wetter she got and how her eyes widened with pleasant surprise.

“For being a tease?” she offered

“Closer. But no.” he smacked her again, this  time harder.

“Ugh, then what Sherlock? Tell me what you want me to apologize for and I will, I swear.”

“For being such a Fucking. Dirty. Teasing. Slut.” Sherlock explained forcefully, articulating each ‘insult’ with a hard smack on her bottom. Despite him practically degrading her (she had never heard such language being spoken directly at her let alone from his mouth) she found it oddly turned her on that he thought of her as sexy and dirty enough to be called a slut.

“I’m sorry for being such a fucking dirty, teasing slut.” She said as honestly and confidently as she could. She couldn’t help but feel proud – she, the lowly Molly Hooper, had made Sherlock Holmes both jealous and seriously hard. With that he reached a hand down between them, aligned himself and moved forward burying himself inside her to his hilt.

She shut her eyes and let out a soft moan which mixed with his as he slowly entered her and then another as he pulled out. He was so big that she thought he was going to rip her apart if he tried to fit inside her again. She could feel every distended vein on his twitching cock as he entered her again, this time not as carefully. He did this again before he started setting a rhythm for both of them, each time enjoying the pleasure-pain he could see in Molly’s eyes.

Molly bucked against his hips trying to get a better angle for him to go deeper. He took one of her knees and hooked it over his elbow and pinned her other hip down onto the bed so that she couldn’t move. She was completely at his mercy and she couldn’t do a thing about it, but for once she didn’t want to. She felt herself nearing the edge once again and hoped that he would let her come this time.

As he pumped inside her, she could feel the pressure building up, in her back, in her thighs all the way down to her toes which tensed and pointed in anticipation as she clenched her entire body waiting. Finally, arching her back as far as she could and burying her head back in the pillows she felt a wave of pleasure roll over her as she finally found her sweet release clenching to the throbbing cock still thrusting inside her. She screamed his name along with a flurry of obscene expletives, her erotic fantasies finally coming true.

“Molly” he groaned into the crook of her neck as he played with her breasts. Molly was in heaven and couldn’t hear much of the muffled sounds but what she could hear was mix of her name and profane words which were a testament to how much Sherlock was enjoying her body.

It wasn’t long before she was gearing up for another wave and she could tell that Sherlock was nearing his peak too. He sped up, his curls brushing against her cheek and their bodies now nothing more than a giant mass of pleasure. He clenched and paused for a second before he expelled himself inside her, groaning against her, fighting with every fiber of his being to not collapse on top of her. The sound of his orgasm sent Molly over the edge once more and she came for the second time that night. It was the first time a man had ever made her come twice in one night, let alone one session.

They were spent and they just laid there, Sherlock on top of Molly, for a few minutes while they caught their breaths. Eventually, Sherlock reached over to the bed side table and pulled out a key, he reached up and undid the uncomfortable handcuffs that were still holding Molly’s arms up.

He pulled them down, while he rubbed her wrists, then her elbows and then her shoulders, all while keeping her lips busy with another hot kiss. They rolled around so that they were now lying side by side; still locked in a hypnotizing embrace. At some point, one of them had pulled the duvet and the covers over them, which made the bed warmer and made it harder for either one of them to concentrate as sleep tried to set in.

“Molly Hooper, I love you.” Sherlock said. For the very first time in his life, Sherlock had admitted to feeling an emotion. He felt as if the entire world had stopped and yet everything was perfect.

“I – I love you too, Sherlock.” Molly answered; her breath catching as she almost sobbed with happiness.

With that they fell asleep in each other’s arms, not really knowing what the next day would bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow... I didn't know I had that in me... my friend is now calling me a closeted pervert and a freak - I can't help but agree with him... Tell me what you think in the comments below.


	4. Conclusions Drawn: Molly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after from Molly's point of view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short and the one before last (the last is pretty short too)

The next morning, Molly Hooper, woke up in the arms and bed of Sherlock Holmes. She laid there for a few minutes looking at his sleeping face not daring to touch him in case she might wake him up. It had all started last night when they got drunk and they had ended up here, enjoying the best night of their lives. Well, it was for her at least. 

She knew Sherlock and had a funny feeling that he would return to insulting her the moment he woke up and found her here. But something inside her told her that he wouldn't. That he had meant what he'd said the night before, that he did actually love her and his demeaning comments in the past were just a way of him of hiding his feelings from her. She smiled as she remembered how boys would dip her pigtails in paint and cut them off in kindergarten just because they liked her and couldn't help but stifle a giggle as she imagined a 5-year-old Sherlock Holmes picking on young girls; then again he hadn't matured too much since then. 

It was when Molly finally, plucked up the courage to try and stoke one of his cheeks that she realized what a huge mistake she had just made.

Yes, indeed. As she had reached up her right hand to stroke one of those impossibly high cheekbones, she had seen the ring. For a moment the happiness that had dazed her mind made her think Sherlock had given it to her and she struggled to remember the question she had dreamed he would ask her so many times. But as she recalled the events of the night, she remembered exactly who had given her the ring… and it wasn’t Sherlock, but Tom.

She couldn’t believe what she had just done. Had she, mousy Molly, really just cheated on her fiancé? Right now she couldn’t remember if she even loved him. She had too, if she was willing to marry him but if she loved him so much than why on earth was she lying here with another man. _A man who in all fairness has treated you like shit every day since the first day you met him._ Her mother’s voice said to her in her head. _He was right, you are a slut._ She thought.

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she laid her hand gently on his cheek, and held her breath as she saw his eyelashes flutter a little bit as if he were waking. He didn't though and instead let out a breath and shifted a bit underneath her. She felt his arms flexing around her as if trying to convince Molly to stay, to forget about Tom and stay here with him. But how could she be sure that he would actually want her and that last night was not just a drunken one night stand which both of them would regret. 

Before she could let any of her sobs escape, she climbed out of bed carefully trying not to wake him – she wouldn’t be able to leave if he looked at her with those gorgeous blue-green eyes. She tiptoed around the room, gathering her clothes, putting them on, except her shoes. She collected her coat and her purse from the living room outside and checked her phone to see what time it was.

09.35 am – which meant that Mrs. Hudson would be downstairs in the sandwich shop and wouldn’t see or hear her leaving. She made a silent vow to never speak of this again, not unless he brought it up and if he did, she would tell him it was all a mistake and she was sorry it ever happened.

With that she left 221B and signalled for a cab to take her home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have loved to let Molly's happiness last and continue on with the obvious plot line that would happen after the 'I love you's in the last chapter but I have something else in mind and had to put this to bed first - pun intended. Also Molly (or at least my Molly) is too honest to not feel guilty about cheating on Tom even though she loves Sherlock more than anything. Sound off in the comments below.


	5. Conclusions Drawn: Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after from Sherlock's point of view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's find out how Sherlock feels about last night's events... Please don't hate me - I hate myself enough for having to end it this way. Another shortie - shorter than the last one.

Sherlock awoke, feeling strange.

He moved examining the various aches and stiff muscles that came after a good night’s sleep.

He was naked – that wasn’t unusual, he liked sleeping in the nude. He reached for his phone on the bedside table and was surprised when he didn’t find it there. He sat up, regretting it immediately as the hangover made itself very well known to him. He steadied himself, and surveyed the bedroom.

At first he was alarmed, thinking someone might’ve broken in and trashed his bedroom while he lay there asleep, but upon further observation he noticed that there was only one set of clothes on the floor and he vaguely remembered wearing them the previous night. He must have been so drunk that he didn’t care about his clothes. Oh well.

He looked back to the nightstand and saw a familiar set of handcuffs, though he didn’t know how they had gotten there. They were Lestrade’s, he pickpocketed them all the time and must have done so again last night. The man must have been annoying, Sherlock deducted. It wasn’t until Sherlock recognized the unusual stiffness in his member that immediately followed a night of sex that he was a bit alarmed. 

He fought hard to try and remember who the woman in his bed had been. No traces of perfume so no clue there. He threw the covers off the bed, desperately looking for some clue as to who had shared his bed, but there was not one to be found. He searched his mind palace for glimpses of her, but to no avail. And then suddenly he remembered.

Molly’s friend from the pub. What was her name? Lilly? Yes that must’ve been it. He had kissed Lilly, he remembered that much but nothing really after that.

Oh well, he was going to have to let her down easy, if he remembered what she even looked like.

“Why should I even bother, if she left, she wants nothing to do with me!” he said out loud to the empty room as if he were looking for confirmation of his deductions. Then he remembered her fluttering eyes at Lestrade and decided the problem could easily go away on its own, and if it didn't he would have to deal with it if it became a serious problem. 

With that, he got up, wrapped a sheet around himself and went to get the tea Mrs. Hudson had so loyally put out for him as she did every morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said Please don't hate me - it had to end this way, I can't tell you why yet but you'll see ;) In other news, I am working on a different fic atm, it is Sherlock but it's not smut, if you want to get Tumblr updates my handle is iamtheno1cumbercookie - I know it's long and I have a feeling i might've been high when i wrote it... and be warned i am new to tumblr so be patient. Thanks all so much for the love and support.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how Sherlock finds out the identity of who exactly he shared his bed with.

Sherlock entered the elevator with John on his heels carrying coffee for the two of them. He handed him one foam cup with two sugars as he liked it.

“So… you look like you had fun last night.” John started hesitantly as he sipped on his coffee.

“Mmm.” He agreed. “I got drunk and can’t remember how I got home, if that’s what constitutes a good night for you, John you need your head examined.”

“It’s all right every now and again I suppose. Having drunk sex with someone could be a bit of a problem though.” He continued, not being able to look the detective in the face.

“Depends on who the person is, I suppose.” Sherlock answered innocently also avoiding John’s face.

The elevator dinged and the door opened onto one of the office floors of New Scotland Yard. Greg Lestrade’s office was located at the far end of the floor. He had texted Sherlock as soon as he had got in this morning and saw the case file on his desk. The pair walked in to find the Detective Inspector with his elbows leaning on his desk and his head in his hands, fingers rubbing his temples.

“Ah.” John said. “Looks like both of you had a couple of extra pints.”

Lestrade looked up and was a bit miffed to see Sherlock looking as handsome as ever even as he was coming off a hangover.

“Not just that, but he also decided to get back at his wife… Really, Lestrade, revenge sex is not going to make matters better between you and your wife.”

“For your information, Susan and I got our divorce finalized last month so me hooking up with Lindsay is nothing more than what any normal guy would’ve done if a good looking girl like her was attracted to him.” Greg argued, groaning as he put his head back in his hands. Sherlock froze as Lestrade mentioned his previous night’s activities with Lindsay. If he hadn’t slept with her then who had he slept with?

He went over what had happened the night before. He recollected everything right up until he had kissed Lindsay. He thought harder, fighting against the smog that filled the rooms in his mind palace and there he found it: a tiny memory of black lace. He concentrated on focusing the blurred memories and came up with a feeling on his fingers. It was a whisper. Not an actual feeling happening to him right there in the office but a memory of one.

He focused on it, trying to bring out all the details. He could feel lace against the tips of his fingers and suddenly, everything became clearer and he became overwhelmed with the memory. Damp lace, covering soft warmth underneath a pink chiffon skirt, with tiny pale thighs on either side. Back in the office, he could feel himself getting hard again, possibly more than he had the night before. He turned around and dashed out of the office as quick as he could without actually breaking into a run. He caught the elevator as it was closing and pushed it back open, getting in and violently pushing the ground floor button. He didn’t even know where he was going; it was one of those times where his mind had taken over his body completely. The only conscious thought that was coming up was _MOLLY!_

He ended up going back to 221B, bursting through the front door and hastily throwing off his Belstaff and letting it fall to the floor in the middle of the living room. He thundered on through the kitchen and into his bedroom, taking in every detail he could. He now wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. Traces of Molly were all over his room, from the beautiful auburn-brown stray hairs on his duvet, to the shape of the pillow next to his: her head would have fit perfectly in the small fold in the centre.

He threw himself on top of the bed and buried his head into _her_ pillow. The very idea that the pillow belonged to her and it was in his room, on his bed, made him almost go crazy with _sentiment._ He mentally spat the word, but a small part of his mind hung on to it, caressing it and thinking how it would feel to be able to hold Molly and remember it this time. Sherlock drew in a breath and found all the confirmation he had been looking for. The extra pillow smelled strongly of vanilla and lavender just as she always did, just as she had the night before. He could feel his trousers suddenly growing tighter around his front.

Sherlock rolled off the bed and landed on all fours. He hadn’t made the bed again and so could easily peer under the bed where he spotted something very particular, something that could only belong to someone who had spent the previous night here with him. A pair of black lace panties was lying under the bed, possibly from where he had thrown them the night before. As soon as he saw them, he reached out and was moving again.

He picked up the panties and moved back out to the living room, picking up the coat as kept going. John appeared in the front door now about to ask him what was wrong but didn’t have time as Sherlock pushed past him and rushed down the stairs and out the door. He signalled to a cab at the end of the road. He got in and shot of the address. It was Saturday and he knew Molly would be working today. The cab ride seemed to take longer than usual, and Sherlock couldn’t completely understand why.

He got to St. Bart’s and made his way to the morgue, the damp panties still in his coat pocket. He burst into the morgue much in the same way he usually did. Molly was sitting at one of the tables looking through a microscope and making notes on a writing pad to her right. She jumped a little when she heard Sherlock enter but quickly returned to her work.

“Hello, Sherlock.” She said in her usual cheery way. In fact if it hadn’t been for the fact that she was avoiding making eye contact with the detective, he would’ve thought that he had gotten it wrong and Molly hadn’t been the one he had spent the night with. He walked over to her cautiously, holding his hands behind his back and trying to seem as cool as possible.

“Good morning, Molly.” He said with a smile.

“What do you need Sherlock?” She’s asked automatically.

“What makes you think I need anything?”

“Well, Lestrade hasn’t sent over any bodies yet, so you must be here to carry out some experiments.” She answered looking at him now. “Right?”

“Hmmm… yes.” He continued without registering her words. He was looking at her face for once, observing it for pretty much the first time. He took in all her features and memorized and compartmentalized them as needed. “I mean no.” He corrected “I mean, I’m here to see you.”

“M…me?” she squeaked.

“Yes, Molly, you. How many pathologists do you think I know that I would voluntarily pay a social visit to?”

“Is that what this is then? A Social visit? I didn’t think you knew what those were.”

“Yes, Molly. I wanted to ask you a question, a very personal one.” He said releasing his hands from behind his back and leaning forward unto the table so that his eyes were practically level with hers now.

“Oh, well, go ahead. Ask away.” She granted waving her hand as if to show that there were no secrets between them. Sherlock enjoyed that, the fact that she would allow him into some personal part of her life. He had always considered their relationship to be purely professional and knew that she did too, despite how much she wanted to change that fact.

“Okay.” He stopped considering his next words very carefully. “What do you think it means when a woman leaves something behind?”

She gulped, possibly knowing what he was referring to, but proceeded without letting on. “Well I guess it depends on what kind of something” She said innocently.

“Clothes… precisely these.” He said as he slowly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out her panties.

She still wasn’t about to confirm nor deny her being at his flat the night before, there was still a chance he wasn’t sure it was her though he would’ve probably deduced it from her body language by now. “Oh, Sherlock. Umm… well I think it might mean that she had sex with you the night before and had to leave very early in the morning and probably didn’t notice that she left without them until she got back to her house or that she couldn’t find them and didn’t have time to look for them.” She spluttered out quickly, pretending to make deductions as if she hadn’t been the woman in question.

“Or it could mean that she wanted me to keep a little souvenir of our time together.”

“I think if she’d wanted to do that, she would’ve left something different. Possibly her telephone number.” She offered

“Molly, I know these are yours.” Sherlock finally admitted. Molly’s face suddenly turned red and he could see the tears about to start forming in her eyes.

“Get out.” She said simply. “Just go, leave me alone. I’ll call you when I have the results of the next autopsy, but until then please just leave me alone for a bit.” Sherlock didn’t say anything. He could see the hurt in her eyes – though why she was hurt and if it had anything directly to do with him he wasn’t sure. He simply placed the lace garment on the table next to the notepad and turned to leave, bursting out just as noisily as he had burst in.

Molly simply took the panties and went over to place them in her handbag and then returned to her work without giving it a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo..... I know it's been long but I have been having a terrible time with loads of things one of which was writer's block. I finally managed to write out a few chapters and got them up in time for our very own Benny's birthday - enjoy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is rather a stubborn man isn't he?

Sherlock was shocked that Molly had thrown him out of the morgue and rather rudely he had to add, though he wasn’t exactly the best person to point out being rude to people.

His mobile rang again and he pulled it out to see Lestrade’s number, it was then that he remembered that he had ran out just before Lestrade gave him a case. He took a cab back to New Scotland Yard rather reluctantly and was pleased to see that John too had made his way back after being called. The Detective Inspector ordered coffee for them while they sat down for him to explain the case.

“A strange one this. The murder of a women, Caucasian, late twenties to early 30s, pregnant and a bit far along, Anderson estimates she was towards the end of her second trimester. I know.” He said acknowledging John’s sympathetic look. “What’s worse, she’s the third victim like this. All within their second trimester, the others were 32 and 34 respectively. They were all unmarried and as far as the investigations have uncovered they were completely single. Doors and windows all locked. Victims strangled and then had their throats cut – we think it was to avoid fingerprint recognition from the bruises.”

“Any connections?” Sherlock asked sipping on his coffee.

“Way ahead of you. We thought there might be a connection when we saw that the first victim was a doctor and the second a surgeon but they never went to the same school or worked in the same place, we’re still checking the background for the third.”

Lestrade then took the two men to the gruesome crime scene where Sherlock cleverly deducted that the latest victim was a nurse.

“Considering the fact that our three victims are all professionals in the medical field I would consider that our common factor, I’m pretty sure that if you take a look at the nurse’s work history you’ll find she worked with both the doctor and the surgeon at some point in her life.” Sherlock announced loudly.

“We already have. She worked with the doctor at St. Bart’s but the surgeon worked at Great Ormond’s.” Lestrade responded immediately with a small smile.

“Give me access to the information, I’ll find the connection.” Sherlock insisted leaving the scene and getting in a cab again, heading back home.

Sherlock found that while he was trying to deduce information at the crimes scene, he couldn’t concentrate on the case and all he kept seeing was Molly running around in his mind palace, in nothing more than her black lace bra and knickers. He would need to talk to her soon but she had all but banned him from the morgue and he didn’t want to push her so that she actually did. So he would have to think of some other way to contact her.

He went back to Baker Street and got a head start on the information, until it was time for her shift to finish. He visited his mind palace again to try and save all the information he had gathered and came out of his trance about 4 hours too late.

He swore to himself both internally and out as he grabbed his coat and dashed out of the apartment nearly bumping into Mrs. Hudson and his dinner on the way out. He would now have to resort to plan B. He burst out of the front door and found an elderly woman disembarking from a cab. His mental John reminded him that it was the socially responsible thing to do to help her out of the cab before getting in. Once seated, he absently recited the address to Molly’s apartment and hoped that she had not decided to go out on a date with that idiot imitation-of-him fiancé of hers.

When the cab finally stopped he was delighted to see the third floor windows lit. He paid the cabbie, mentally going over the speech he had prepared that morning. Sherlock knocked three times after deciding that picking the lock would not be the best start to his speech. He heard Molly clutter around inside as she made her way to the door, he was prepared for the onslaught of words and the angry gaze in those wide brown eyes. But he was definitely not prepared to see those same brown eyes all red and puffy from crying.

“Sherlock? What are you doing here?” she sniffled, wiping at her face.

“I wanted to talk… about last night, but more importantly are you all right?” Sherlock asked as Molly stepped aside to let him in. He shrugged off his coat and placed on the rack with hers. Once she had closed the door he turned to her and held her upper arms, after a while of staring at her he simply hugged her.

“Thank you.” She said quietly. “Come in.” She said leading the way to the living room where the T.V. was still showing _Smash!_ “Wine?” She asked indicating the glass half full with the burgundy coloured liquid. He nodded and she retrieved a second glass. They sat close on the couch together and sat back to watch the T.V. again.

“What’s wrong Molly?” he asked again in the middle of a cheesy number.

“Tom and I broke up.” She finally admitted, another wave of sobs hitting her. Sherlock pulled her close and held her so that she could bury her face in his chest.

“Molly, I am sorry this is so upsetting to you, but I can’t say I’m sorry that your engagement is over.” Sherlock finally admitted.

“Wh-What?”

“You heard me, Molly. He was an idiot and you deserve so much better than him. And I know I’m not that much better but I promise you Molly I am willing to try of you would be willing to give me a chance.”

“Sherlock I can’t believe you.”

“What? Not good?”

“No!”

“No, not good or no to my…proposal?”

“Both” she was angry now.

“Why? I know I’m not the best choice in the world but I have to be better than… Tom!” he spat his name, offended that Molly had rejected him.

The tears that spilled from Molly’s eyes now were ones of anger.

“Because Sherlock, you have ruined my life.” She was sobbing again and got up from the coach to put more space between them. It didn’t work, as Sherlock simply got up and followed her to the kitchen.

“What do you mean _I_ have ruined your life?”

“I was in love with you Sherlock.” She admitted as she turned around to face him. “I was in love with you and all you did was treat me like SHIT! All those years, you would just waltz into the morgue whenever you bloody well pleased, _demanding_ things from me. And I was stupid enough to give them to you because I was so hopelessly in love with you. And when I finally plucked up enough courage to say no to you, you started being nice. You would come in, telling me how that sweater made me look nice, or how my hair looked nice when I parted it differently, and I would give you what you wanted because I thought that you were shy and just needed some coaxing out of your shell.

“But then you would turn around and insult me again. And I put up with it, time _and time_ AND TIME AGAIN! And then you were so depressed, and you came to me saying you needed me. And I _helped_ you! I broke the rules at work and possibly the law. I lied to my friends – to _our friends_ , Sherlock! I betrayed them. Do you know how many times I had to comfort John and Mrs. Hudson after you’d gone? Do you know how many times I told them you were actually gone?

“But I got used to it. As awful as that sounds, I got used to _lying_ for you, and that helped me move on, because as much as I hated myself at night for thinking it, I really did think you were dead. Even if I knew that you didn’t die when you fell off the roof, I thought there was no way you could’ve possibly survived Russian gangs and god knows what else, so I convinced myself that you had died and I moved on. I cried, and got over you and then started dating and I met Tom. And I did love him, I did. But when you came back, you brought it all back with you, and you asked me to help you on your case. And the pub, what was all that about? I was engaged, I was _HAPPY!_ And you had to go and ruin it. What did I ever do to you to deserve this, Sherlock? What?” She was outwardly crying now, no longer ashamed to show her feelings around the man who had invaded her life and her dreams so completely.

“Molly…I…I” Sherlock was actually speechless. He had never thought that Molly loved him. He knew that she was completely infatuated with him but he had never thought that she actually loved him. He had never thought that he was a man who could be loved, yet here she stood admitting it all. “I’m sorry, Molly, so very, very sorry. I never knew you felt that way.” He said closing the space between them and holding her while she sobbed again. He felt a stinging at the corners of his eyes and fought against the tears that wanted to sprout. “I guess I never really… I never… I always thought of you as _my_ pathologist.”

“N-n-no more.” She gasped. “No more! I don’t want to see you anymore Sherlock. I don’t ever want you to come back here, I don’t even want to be your pathologist anymore.” She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes as she said the next part. “I got a new job, I’m quitting my position at St. Bart’s and I’ve gotten a new apartment. I’m moving up to Edinburgh in a month, and I don’t want you to follow me. Even if you get the biggest case of your life and you have to come to Edinburgh, don’t, please. I have to get away from this. I have to move on with my life.” She begged.

“Molly, you can’t. You’re the best pathologist… who else would put up with me?” he asked, begging in return.

“You’ll find someone else, I’ve already given Mike my notice, and he said he’d help if you needed it.”

“Molly, I’m sorry, I only did that because I didn’t want you marrying Tom and regretting it later. You didn’t see what I saw and I didn’t tell you because I really tried to let you move on. I do want you to be happy and I doubt you could ever truly be happy with me, so I tried, but-“

“Don’t, Sherlock. I don’t want to know. Just go, leave me alone please. I need to be alone.” She said pushing him away now.

Sherlock lost all his strength then. Memories of a dog sprouted in his mind and he remembered how lost he’d felt when Redbeard had left. He turned around and ripped his coat off the rack, opening the door in one movement and closing it with the next.

Molly crumpled, she leaned against the kitchen counter and slid down against one of the cupboards. She sat on the floor letting the tears flow freely now as she hugged her legs close to her body and rested her forehead on her knees. She had to admit that despite the despair she was feeling right now, all this crying felt good. She felt all the pain just washing out of her. When she’d finally calmed down, she got up and got into her bed, where another wave of tears took over until she finally fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter - with lots of feels - i nearly cried while writing this.

Sherlock stood outside the door to Molly’s flat just staring at it for a few moments.

This had gone very differently to how he had planned. In his mind he had pictured going to Molly and laying out all his feelings, letting her know how he had felt about her since day one. When he had gotten here however, it had all leapt out the window at the sight of her emotional state. He had assumed that some other emotion besides affection might have been involved but he had considered upset to be more of a possibility over anger, and surely they would have both been caused by him and not Tom. He hadn’t counted on Tom breaking her heart before he’d had a chance to cushion the fall, that’s why he had wanted to talk to her outside of the morgue but now he was too late. He stood there, in amazement, wondering how on Earth did a woman who was attracted to him so much before, hate him so much now, when he finally asked her out and after only 24 hours of him having undoubtedly made some of her wildest fantasies come true.

He had imagined that she would have embraced him and they possibly would have started off their new relationship as they had left it the night before. When he had seen how upset she was he had immediately deduced why and had tried to ease her emotions and comfort her by telling her that she deserved much better than Tom. But he had yet to understand why she was angry with him of all people.

He decided that she was not going to talk to him anymore tonight, but Sherlock would be damned if he was not going to see her again before she left London. He made his way back home slowly contemplating each word that had been said and how he could fix it. In the end every solution he came up with led to the same scenario: He would try to talk to her and she would hate him even more for even trying. In the end he decided that his brother had been right! Caring was not an advantage. In fact, it was a disadvantage, felt only by those weak idiots that seemed so common in the world’s population. Even John seemed to have become one of them lately. He was alone again, and after having experienced what it was like to have friends, it hurt more now than it had ever hurt before.

Across London, Sherlock Holmes finally arrived at Baker Street. He found that as he ran, a couple of tears streaked his cheeks and that only made him want to run faster. Somewhere in the middle of London, he had figured out the connection between the three victims and he stopped momentarily to text Lestrade his findings, and then he continued to run. When he finally got to Baker Street, he ignored the tea on the table and the violin on the mantelpiece. He simply took off his coat and went to his bedroom, forgetting all about the case he had been working on and shutting the entire world out once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, like I said - lots of feels. I feel bad for the poor man but it's not that he doesn't deserve some of this - I felt bad for Molly in the previous chapter.


	9. Repairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being rejected by Molly, Sherlock reacts the only way he knows how and John has to make some repairs. 
> 
> some more feels in this one.

Two weeks later, John arrived at Baker Street after having received a worried phone call from Mrs. Hudson, telling him that Sherlock had not been home in two weeks. She had refreshed his tea everyday but it remained untouched and there was no sound of him all day.

The state of the flat when John arrived confirmed all of this and had he not been training himself to observe more, he might have missed the Belstaff coat and blue scarf hanging on the back of the living room door. Sherlock always wore those wherever he went, which told John that he was actually inside. Yet the fact that Mrs. Hudson had not yet seen him for the last few days was worrisome and he hadn’t even touched her sugar biscuits which were his favourites.

In a military style, John marched over to the bedroom door and knocked twice, announcing in his best captain’s voice.

“Sherlock, I know you’re sulking in there. Mrs. Hudson says you haven’t even touched your tea and biscuits and she was worried about you.”

He heard the sound of sheets hitting the floor and a few footsteps before he heard the click of the door lock. Thinking Sherlock had unlocked it, he turned the knob but it had in fact been the opposite. Well, at least he knew that Sherlock was alive and his usual stubborn self, which eased his mind a little, but he still wanted to know what upset his friend so much. He decided to try a different tactic.

“I spoke to Greg. He says he knows that the case is hard and he wouldn’t be surprised if it took you another month or so to figure it out.” He tried to really insult his intelligence with that last comment, knowing that whenever anyone challenged him he solved the mystery that much faster.

“Tell Lestrade that just because he and his entire workforce are idiots does not mean that I am.”

‘Baby steps, John.’ The soldier told himself. That had gotten him talking; now he had to try and coax him out of his room. He suddenly remembered the door that led from Sherlock’s room to the bathroom. Crossing the bright tiled room in four long strides, he leaned into the door turning the knob, only to find it locked too.

“Sherlock! Come on. Just tell me what’s wrong.” John pleaded.

“John, I am in no mood to answer your silly little questions, please leave me in peace.”

“No! You come out or I am going t knock both these doors down.”

“Can’t you see how that would be useless? Once you have one door down, you wouldn’t need the second as well. It would only provide me with both the means and the opportunity of escape.” Something really was bothering him. He was nit-picking at John’s words.

“All right, then. I’ll break one door down and drag you out here by your hair.”

“OH GO AWAY, JOHN! Go back to Mary. She needs you more than I do anyway. She needs someone to help pick out flowers with.” John realised that this was meant to be an insult, and when Sherlock started insulting people (truly insulting them and not just calling them idiots, he did that every day) it meant that he really wanted them gone.

“Fine, but if you do need me then I’m just a phone call away. Just call, or even text and I’ll be over in no time at all.” He told the detective. He had known that Sherlock would take his getting married badly but he had never imagined that his friend would take it this hard.

He left. As a doctor, he knew it was important to give people space, especially when they asked for it. As his friend however, he was worried about Sherlock. John had lost Sherlock once. He had grieved and gotten over it. And then the stupid git shocked him by coming back. He had been angry and gotten over that too. For a man who claimed wasn’t the least bit sentimental, he could stir up some wild emotions in you sometimes. But that was all in the past and John certainly wanted it to remain there. He never wanted to go through all that again.

He stopped by Mrs. Hudson’s flat and asked her to keep an eye on Sherlock and make sure that the flat was stocked and to keep him updated on the situation. He would visit soon but with the wedding being so close (and Sherlock clearly wasn’t going to help anytime soon. John had to take care of both their tasks and work.) He wasn’t sure when that would be.

It would prove to be a week before Mary had scheduled a two hour break for John and insist that he take it to visit his friend.

When he got to Baker Street he noticed that the only difference was the tea set Mrs. Hudson had set out as she was obviously still replacing his tea very often, as well as the extra layer of dust that had settled over everything.

John made his way to the bedroom door and found that it was still locked. He knocked twice and cleared his throat, putting on his best bedside manner.

“Sherlock, it’s me again. Are you feeling any better?” The only response he got was a loud, muffled grunt. “Do you want to come out and talk or do you want to just sulk in there some more?”

“I am NOT sulking, John.” John puffed out a sigh in return. Taking care of Sherlock was like taking care of a stubborn 7-year-old little boy. He had had enough though. If Sherlock was going to act like a child then he had to act like a parent.

“Yes you are, Sherlock. Now get dressed and get out here!”

“But –“

“Yes, yours! Out here. In your chair. In twenty minutes. MAX!”

“Or what?” Sherlock challenged.

“Or I’m calling Mycroft. And Lestrade and asking him to pick up Anderson on his way.” John countered; He had been ready for him.

“FINE!” He roared.

John stepped onto the landing and called for Mrs. Hudson to bring up another tray of tea to replace the one that had now gone stale. He turned into the living room to wait till the twenty minutes were up. Just then, Sherlock rushed out of his bedroom, nearly pulling the door of its hinges, and puching it back when it rebounded, creating a mighty booming noise. He was quite a sight in light blue pyjamas pinstriped in white with a matching blue dressing gown hanging open and flapping at his ankles, which were completely bare along with the rest of his feet. He plopped down into the black leather chair facing John in his red tartan one.

“Now what?” he asked stubbornly.

“Hoo hoo.”  They heard from the door and both men looked up to see Mrs. Hudson holding up a fresh tea tray. “Oh, Sherlock, you finally came out of that room. How good to see you. Are you feeling okay?”

Sherlock’s expression softened a bit at seeing his landlady, but not housekeeper. He got up and took the tray from her hands and, balancing it in his right hand, he turned and took the old tray off the table, replacing it with the new one, and handed it to Mrs. Hudson.

“Thank you for the tea, Mrs. H., and I’m feeling fine.” With a surprised smile on her face, Mrs. Hudson turned and left the room.

“What was all that about?” John asked as Sherlock sat back down.

“What was what about?” Sherlock shrugged as he poured and stirred the milk and sugar into his tea.

“You were ni _ce._ ” He explained, dragging out the ‘c’ and consequently sounding a bit like a snake. “To Mis-sus-Hud-son.” He pronounced every syllable to its full extent. “You are never nice. Not to anyone. Especially not to Mrs. Hudson.”

“Oh that. That was just something to get rid of her. She had that look in her eye that said ‘I was concerned’ and she was going to start talking and asking stupid questions.” He rattled on, stopping only to sip on his tea.

“Yeah. Speaking of concerned, we all were.”

“I don’t see why you needed to be. I was perfectly safe in my bedroom.”

“Yeah, why were you sulking in there?”

“No reason. The case I had was boring. Not enough clues or information. I simply had nothing better to do.”

“Why didn’t you just go to the lab and run some experiments, bother Molly like you usually do.”

“Can’t. Molly doesn’t work there anymore.” He said. His voice no longer holding the bored flat tone describing something obvious to his friend, but a quieter, more solemn one. John sensed a certain level of loneliness in the detective, but he didn’t question it.

“What do you mean she doesn’t work there anymore?” He asked instead.

“She… broke of her engagement to Tim -”

“Tom” John corrected.

“Not Important. As I was saying, she broke it off with him, quit her job and sold her flat. She’s moving to Edinburgh apparently.” Sherlock said as he waved his arm around as if to swat away the thoughts of her and send them out the window. John could tell Sherlock was angry and he would need to tread carefully.

“And how do you feel about that?” He prodded, slipping on his therapist’s cap.

“How do you want me to feel?” Was this it? John wondered, was he finally going to admit feeling something for someone. “I’m annoyed.” Sherlock said. “I have to work with those other idiots down at Bart’s now.” John felt a bit disappointed. He could plainly see that there was something behind the wall Sherlock had built. Sadness, possibly. Maybe even anger.

“Do you know why she’s leaving?” John asked curiously.

“What does it even matter?!” Sherlock shouted. “People leave, that’s what they do!” For some reason, John was reminded of that awful night at the pool and their first encounter with Moriarty. Sherlock seemed just as manic now; but instead of the insanity that had flared in Moriarty’s eyes there was something different in Sherlock’s. He was… _desperate?_ John thought. “You’ve already left.” Sherlock accused bringing John out of his thoughts. “Now Molly is too.” He said almost hysterical now, pacing around the room. “Greg will no doubt be promoted soon and won’t require my assistance anymore and so on… so really, John, what is there to get upset about?”  


“Okay, Greg hasn’t left yet and just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean I won’t be your friend anymore.” The doctor reassured. He didn’t mention Molly. He had a feeling he knew exactly what had happened.

“Yes, you say that now and yet you have to leave because you’re going to be late for a cake tasting with Mary.” Sherlock said calmly.

John looked down at his watch. “Damn!” he said, putting the teacup back on the tray, stood up and put on his jacket. “I’ll try and get this over and done with quickly and get right back here. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” Sherlock smiled and nodded. A genuine smile, not one of the fake ones he usually gave Molly at the morgue to get something. He immediately regretted thinking of Molly.

He had tried keeping the hurt inside his mind from creeping into his heart. He had succeeded so far but now that John had made him feel sentimental ( _oh god, that word…disgusting._ ) again, it almost made his heart ache to think of her. He sat down and finished the last of his tea, but when he looked down at the empty cup, he was surprised to see a single drop of water falling into it. His vision now blurred against the tears as he removed the cup again from his hands. He sat back and continued thinking of Molly, and with each thought that flowed from his mind, a new set of tears flowed from his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More left to come ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes investigating!

Three hours after he left Baker Street, John Watson’s cab pulled up in front of Molly Hooper’s apartment. He had tasted every variety of vanilla and chocolate cake there was and all the combinations in between. Different icings and toppings and fillings and although they all mostly tasted the same to him, Mary and the baker seemed to have much varied opinions about each one. In the end he had conceded to whatever it was that Mary had ordered, on the condition that he got a nice plain chocolate cake for his groom’s cake. Truth be told though, he wasn’t really paying much attention to what he was eating but more to what had gotten his friend so upset. He thought back to three weeks and tried to make a connection. After he and Mary left the confectioner’s he decided to put in a few calls mainly to Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, but after getting no clues from them, he had given up and called Mycroft.

The information he finally gathered was that Sherlock had gone out on the Friday but according to Lestrade heh had seemed perfectly fine, if a little drunk. The next day he had started acting strangely. Mycroft mentioned that he had gone to St. Bart’s in the morning but he had no trace of him after that, which meant that Molly was most likely the last person to have seen him before he went all crazy and locked himself up. John finally decided that a visit to the pathologist was a much better idea than a phone call. He buzzed the little button next to Dr. Hooper’s name and waited.

“Hello?” Molly’s cheerful voice crackled over the intercom.

“Hi Molly, it’s John.” He called back “I was wondering if you had a minute, I wanted a word.”

“Sure, come on up.” She said and the loud buzzing and unlatching of the door pierced the silence in the cold March night.

When she opened the door, John was almost startled to see Molly looking so different. They had met at the pub a few times after work, but he had never seen Molly with messy hair all around her shoulders, without any make up on her face and in a tight camisole and sweat pants before. Her figure was usually hidden underneath the loose-fitting lab coat and even her dresses were never exactly skin tight. He had always thought of her as a woman with a larger figure before but now he could clearly see that he was very wrong.

“Come on in, John.” She said cheerfully. “Do you want some tea?” she offered as she led him inside.

“Nah, no need to put yourself out.” He declined as he followed her into her living room, which was full of boxes with big, neat black words in marker informing of their contents.

“Excuse the mess, I’m in the middle of packing everything up.”

“That’s all right.” He said waving off the apology. “Sherlock said you were moving. Edinburgh huh? A bit far from London isn’t it?” He asked trying to make light conversation as they both sat down on the sofa. He noticed that she winced when he mentioned the detective. It was just a brief momentary thing but he was sure it had flashed across her face.

“Yeah, it is, but I got offered a good job and it’s close to my sister’s so it shouldn’t be too bad. It’s just… well, after Tom and I broke up, I had nothing else really holding me here anymore so I thought ‘might as well’.” She explained.

“Well, we’ll miss you back here, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll still be coming down every now and again. I mean, I’m still coming to your wedding and my mother and brother live about an hour away from here so I’ll try and make time to come around and see them, and I’ll try and keep our monthly jaunt to the pub as well, whenever I come down. It’s just that Sherlock won’t be able to pick my lock in the middle of the night as easily as he can do now.” She joked.

John was glad that she had been the one to bring up their mutual friend. “Yeah, speaking of Sherlock he’s been acting a little weird these past few weeks and I’m worried about him.” He paused trying to think of what to say next.

“What’s that got to do with me?” She asked a bit guiltily.

“Well, I think you might have been the last person to see him and I wondered if you had noticed anything odd about him.”

“I don’t know. He was here a few weeks ago and we had a bit of a fight so I asked him to leave and he did.”

“Oh? Mind if I ask what the fight was about?”

Molly tried to avoid John’s gaze and bit her lower lip in the process. “Well, he said he wanted to talk about something, but I was having a horrible day and he broke into my flat so I just scolded him a bit and he left.” She lied. She was getting better and better at lying to John and she hated it.

“So he didn’t get a chance to tell you what it was he was here to talk about?”

“Well, no. But then again after he pointed out that Tom was no good and he was happy that I wasn’t marrying him I sort of stopped paying attention.”

“Sounds like normal Sherlock behaviour if you ask me.” John said looking to the carpet now, trying to think of what to make of it all.

“You okay?” Molly wondered.

“Yes, just… sorry for asking all that. None of my business really, but I really am worried about him.”

Molly nodded and sighed. “Look, I – I don’t see how it can help but I could always drop by tomorrow and see if I can talk to him or something. Say I’m bringing over some more fingers he could use for some of his experiments.”

“That would be great, Molly. Thank you. I doubt that, if it had anything to do with what you two talked about, he would tell me. I’d better get back to Mary and let you get back to packing. If you need any help, call me.”

“Thanks, John, I will, and give Mary my love.”

“I will, goodbye.” John said as he waved goodbye and turned to go back down the stairs to the main door.

He sent a quick text to Mary telling her he was on his way back to Baker Street. Ever since that first week after Sherlock’s return she had insisted that he call or text her before going to see Sherlock, because frankly you never knew when you might be dragged into a case with him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear god I am so so sorry for taking so long to update this story! Writer's block and school have driven this one to within an inch of it's life but i'm pleased to say that i can finally give you a couple of new chapters and the story is now making sense to me.

The next morning Molly woke and made herself a cup of coffee. She usually drank tea but she wanted to be at the top of her game if she was going to confront Sherlock regarding what he’d done to her a few weeks before. Who on Earth did he think he was coming into her life turning it upside down whenever he wanted, tricking her into giving him what he wanted, lying to her, manipulating her, even asking her to commit fraud, and then he left her.

That had been okay, she knew she never had any right to expect anything from him, not even a goodbye, which he hadn’t even given her after all she had done for him. But it was fine, it was all fine. She had cursed and cried and mourned in her own way, knowing that he was alive and kicking bad guy butt, but she doubted she would ever see him again and she mourned. She had moved on, met Tom, was looking at a bright future with him, and then he came waltzing back in, getting her drunk, flirting with her like that and fucking her.

God it had been the best fucking she’d ever gotten too. But that didn’t mean a thing now. He had ruined her life and hadn’t even apologised and then he had the gall to tell her it was all for her own good.

Yes, she definitely needed a cup of steaming coffee in order to collect herself enough to face him, especially since John had said he was a mess. If she wasn’t prepared, she could easily fall for him again. That pout, those eyes, the way he always knew what he had to say, those were her weaknesses, but she wouldn’t let them be. A tiny Molly-voice spoke up in her head now.

_“You are daft, aren’t you? He was practically begging you to go out with him a few weeks ago and you were strong enough to kick him out. Now you’re going back because he needs you and you’re not even going to try. You’re leaving London in a few days, you’ve got nothing to lose. Put on some make-up, put on your best day dress, make it look all innocent, like it’s something you would wear every day you’re not at work.”_

Molly was convinced now. She slammed her cup down on the kitchen cupboards and practically marched back towards her bedroom, throwing her wardrobe doors open. She thought for a moment and remembered that she had shaved her legs just the night before, which meant that she could pick a dress. Molly flipped through her selection of dresses and found a lovely dark red wrap-over dress which she had bought some three months ago but never gotten around to wearing.  She threw it on top of her bed and crossed the room over to her underwear drawer. She rummaged through her racy lingerie sets… silk, no… mesh, no… lace, yes! Now, colours… no, too much red with the dress… white, no, too innocent looking… black, definitely!

_“Oh what does it matter, it’s not like he’s going to see them… is he?”_

_“He might not be able to see it but he will definitely be able to tell.”_

“Right black lace it is.” She said out loud throwing the set on top of the dress on the bed. “Now, shoes!” This was her favourite part of any outfit. Molly loved shoes. No, Molly was positively obsessed with shoes. She had an entire room dedicated to her shoes, granted it was a room that was smaller than her bathroom but still, it was a shoe-room. She walked in, turned the light on and walked past the comfy section at the front straight to the glamorous section at the back.

Molly was a very frugal woman but when it came to shoes she could spend hours a day trying on different ones in the shop and then buying them all. She had once calculated that she bought around two shoes per month. It was only a pity that she didn’t get to wear the more beautiful ones more often. She kneeled in front of the shelves at the back, almost in reverence to the Jimmy Choo’s and Christian Louboutin’s and of course lots of Tamara Mellon’s. She paused to think for a few moments. She immediately deleted the possibility of anything not red, grey, silver or black. Then she mentally flipped through her handbag collection, another healthy obsession she nursed, and stopped considering anything that didn’t go with a bag. After numerous other reductions to her possibilities Molly was left with only a handful of pairs to choose from. She finally settled on a suede dark grey pair with black jewel embellishments at the heel and the toe.

Reaching up on her tip-toes to the shelves at the top, where her bags were kept, she found the dark grey clutch with black jewel embellishments at the front flap. Still in her dressing gown she took her shoes and bag out onto the bed with the rest of her ensemble. She moved to her vanity table and started working on her make-up. She decided she was going to give the bright lips a wide berth and really work on her eyes today. Smokey eyes with dark red eye shadow would accent the brown in her eyes and make them look much sexier than they actually were. She brushed her hair smooth and added some cream to give it that melted iron look which she so adored on models.

She put on her underwear and dress with a fierce determination to make the man she once so desired, suffer with just one look at her. He had made her suffer by being glamorous and perfect and cruel, so now she was going to play his game. She put on her shoes and filled her bag with the essentials, put on her black coat, checked herself in the mirror one last time and left her apartment. Her new found confidence was washing off on her luck, because as soon as she locked her front door a cab turned around the corner at the top of her street, which she flagged down. She messaged John, telling him she was on her way and if he could please let them talk alone.

When Molly finally arrived at Baker Street she had gone over her speech a million times. She paid the cabbie and knocked the front door, rehearsing the words in her head once more.

“Oh, hello dear. Don’t you look nice, John mentioned you were coming over. Sherlock’s upstairs doing god knows what. I’ll bring up some tea for you.”

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson. No that’s okay I’ll just make some myself upstairs. I usually do anyway.”

Molly climbed up the stairs to 221B, as she did she could hear the notes of a sombre tune escaping his violin. No, no, no, no, no, no. Please god, don’t tell me he’s playing the violin. She thought. Of course she was wrong, as she could see when she pushed open the door to the flat after knocking. Instantly any fierceness she had gathered up within her left her at the pitiful sight in front of her.

Sherlock was sitting in his black leather armchair, head hung backwards and arms outstretched on the armrests. The music was playing from a small player on the side table next to the chair. Sherlock was wearing his pyjamas and his dressing gown on top. It was obvious from just one look at his hair, which usually looked so luscious, that he hadn’t washed for at least a couple of days. Molly took a step inside the flat and closed the door behind her to avoid being interrupted by Mrs. Hudson.

“Sherlock?” She said to get his attention. The detective didn’t move from his statue-like pose. “Sherlock?” She said a little louder. He still didn’t move. Molly moved closer so that she could touch the arm that was closest to her. “Sherlock?” she asked again, shaking his arm.

Sherlock’s head swung forwards almost automatically, and the smile that was on his face was the widest Molly had ever seen.

“Molly, how are you?” he said.

“Good.” Molly nodded smiling back a little. She took in his face, his eyes were bloodshot and his pupils seemed a lot smaller than they usually were… Molly should know, she always got lost in his eyes. As she was looking, Sherlock reached over to the music player on the side table to turn it off and nearly knocked it over before he did so. Molly could suddenly feel all her anger towards the man soar again. Sherlock looked at her again as she captured his eyes. He still had that wide, stupid grin plastered on his face, which just made Molly angrier. The hand she still had on his wrist, suddenly flew up to his face, open palm, and struck him across the cheek as hard as Molly could manage.

“Sherlock Holmes, are you _high_!?” she asked incredulously

“Not completely, just a little bit.” He admitted rubbing the left side of his face which had now taken on a rather red quality.

“I cannot believe you would do this to yourself!” Molly continued. She had known about his past drug abuse and had received more than one call from John whenever he had been worried about him but Sherlock had always reappeared clean so they had both chocked it up to overreaction. Molly had gotten up from her kneeling position and was already making her way back to the closed door when Sherlock sprung from his armchair and pinned her against the wall.

“Sherlock… what are you doing? Let go of me.” Molly said trying to release herself from the detective’s grasp.

“Molly, please don’t go… I… I can explain, please.” Sherlock pleaded and she could see the hurt and desperation in his eyes.

“It-it’s okay Sherlock, just let go of me, please.” Molly said, trying to reassure him but she couldn’t keep the fear she felt in the pit of her stomach out of her voice.

“No… if I let you go, you’ll just leave.” Sherlock said, squeezing her wrists harder now. At that point Molly stopped thinking rationally and her reflexes took over. She kicked her leg out with all her strength and contacted with Sherlock’s shin. She caught him off guard and as he fell down she moved out of his way, but Sherlock had fallen across the door and she couldn’t get out so she ran towards the windows of the flat, and stopped when she got to the desk there.

Sherlock was quickly up on his feet again and followed Molly, hands raised, palms forward in a gesture of surrender, but Molly still had her back to him and only noticed his approach when she felt his hands on the back of her shoulders. She had opened the drawer in the desk in hope of finding something to defend herself with. She could feel Sherlock turning her around to face him slowly, and she grabbed the first thing she saw in the drawer. Their eyes met again and Molly decided to try and find another way out – she knew she wasn’t able to outrun him or even leave his grasp if he decided he didn’t want to. She looked deep into his eyes, those deep blue pools of starlight that had haunted her dreams since the first day she had met him.

“Sit down, Sherlock, please.” She said. Sherlock nodded and turned around to sit in his black leather chair with the steel tubing frame. Molly lifted her right knee and placed it next to Sherlock’s left thigh on his chair, she repeated this with the other knee and was now straddling him, practically seated in his lap, looking straight into his eyes again. She pushed him back, leaning her face forward, down to meet his. She got closer and closer to him and saw Sherlock licking his bottom lip subconsciously. When she was finally close enough that both of their breaths were mingling in the space between their mouths, Sherlock felt something cold brush against his wrist and then heard the unmistakable click of handcuffs being closed around it. Molly moved quickly then, jumping off him and closing the second cuff around the metal tubing of the chair and out the door she went.

When she slammed the door to the flat behind her, Molly felt all the strength in her legs leave her and she crouched down to the floor, letting her forehead rest on her raised knees. She fished her phone out of her clutch and quickly dialled John’s number, keeping the conversation short after he answered.

“John, I need you to come back to Baker Street.” She sobbed unknowingly.

All he said was, “I’m on my way.” And he hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Sherlock's making a right mess of things isn't he. Will update another chapter very soon - if not today, then tomorrow.
> 
> In the meantime a new little headcanon has creeped it's way into my own mind palace but i'm still not completely over the writer's block and am lacking inspiration so if any of you would like to send me any prompts which i can fill and help me exercise my mind that would be really helpful, just pop them in the comments or send them to me on tumblr here: http://iamtheno1cumbercookie.tumblr.com/ (i know that is a ridiculously long handle)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock keeps f*cking up and John keeps fixing it... you'll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did i not tell you i was going to post another one today? Angst and also mentions of rape, no details though.

When John climbed the stairs to 221B, he found Molly crouched in front of the door, her face hidden in her lap, and her knees drawn up with her arms wound tightly around them.

“Molly? Are you okay?” John said quietly as he kneeled on the last step so that he was placed lower than her.

“John…John, he’s high, he tried to attack me, I didn’t know what else to do.” Molly whimpered reaching out to take his hand, which John held reassuringly.

“What happened, Molly? What did he do? What did you do?” As he asked his questions, John didn’t know what he feared the most – hearing that Sherlock had done something unforgivable or hearing that Molly, out of fear, had done something to Sherlock.

“He was high, he didn’t know what he was doing, but – but – he was – he – he…” Molly sobbed, trying to excuse Sherlock’s actions.

“Shh-shh-shh, Molly. Take deep, deep breaths. Come here.” He said as he dragged himself closer to her and held her shoulders. “Can you stand for me, Molly?” He asked in his best bedside manner. “Good, good. We’re going down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat and we’ll get you some tea, hmm? Or maybe something stronger if you want, I’m sure Mrs. Hudson has something stronger for you, Molly.” He added when he saw that his reassurances were not helping at all.

He got her to her feet and positioned himself by her side, one arm at her waist and the other holding her hand to steady her. He guided her slowly down the stairs, and to Mrs. Hudson’s front door. The landlady invited them in and sat them down at her kitchen table.

“Here you go, Molly dear. This is a little stronger than my usual brew, I use it in times like this when it seems like my thoughts just want to scatter away in every direction.” She tittered.

“Th-Thank y-you, Mm-Mrs. Hud-son.” She hiccupped and managed a weak smile back in the older woman’s direction.

“Oh dear. What has that boy done to you? I swear to god, I’m going to give him a stern talking to when this is all over.”

“Yeah, well, get in line Mrs. Hudson. Which reminds me, I need you to tell me if you found anything… you know… the last time you cleaned up there.”

“I’m his landlady dear, not his housekeeper, and even if I was you know he never lets me dust up there, but I’ll have a nip around next time he’s out.” The old woman said as she patted John’s hand in reassurance and knowledge.

“Ah, Mrs. Hudson, what’s in this?” Molly asked as she brought her teacup back down to her saucer.

“Oh it’s Black Tea, it’s just like camomile but a little stronger. I also put in a tot of whiskey to help settle your nerves a little dear.” She said as she patted Molly’s shoulder a little.

“I can’t say I approve Mrs. Hudson, but given the circumstances, I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear what you put in the tea.” He winked at his former landlady (and housekeeper despite how much she protested.) “Molly, do you think you can tell me what happened now?”

Molly nodded and took a deep breath, realizing the gravitas of what she was about to say. “John, he attacked me. Or tried to anyway.”

“He did WHAT?” John yelled now, slamming his closed fist on the table. “Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I’m sorry. Molly what exactly did he do to you, did he hurt you?”

“No, not really.” She said as she looked down to her wrists, where a few small bruises were starting to bloom. “He just, he pinned me against the wall, and I kicked him – he let me go, I ran and he caught up with me and then I handcuffed him to the chair and left.”

“Wait, you handcuffed him?”

“Yes, to be honest I’m glad that the handcuffs were the first thing I found. God, I was so scared. I don’t know what I would’ve done if… if… if I’d found a knife! Or something.” Molly hid her face in her hands again out of shame and fear.

“Molly, it’s okay, you didn’t. You just handcuffed him. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, yes, I just… I don’t know what came over me, I was just so scared he was going to do something to me.”

“Well, he didn’t, hmm? How about I go make sure he hasn’t chewed his own arm off or something, considering he’s on drugs I wouldn’t put anything past him.” He said with a sigh as he got up.

He made his way up the stairs begrudgingly, a part of him wanted to let Sherlock stew in his own juices for a couple of days thinking he might learn his lesson that way. But the smarter part of his brain knew that he would either find his own way out eventually or definitely not learn from it at all which didn’t really bother him but he wanted to go in and try to find where he was keeping the drugs. He waltzed in the door without bothering to knock, what difference would it make after all, Sherlock was handcuffed. He allowed himself a small chuckle at the thought of Sherlock sitting there thanks to none other than Molly Hooper. He was slightly tempted to call Greg and ask him to bring a proper camera with him, but only slightly.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, one cuff around his wrist, the other around the steel tubing.

“Ah, John.” He said calmly as he spotted the doctor. John could see immediately the signs of drug abuse, no matter how small, in his face. “Do me a favour and get the key from the drawer.” He drawled.

“What’s the magic word?” John teased, he knew full well he wasn’t going to say it but he was in a very rare position of being able to tease him.

“Please, John, please.” Sherlock surrendered.

“Ooh, I got to hear it twice.” He said with a smile as he crossed the room to the desk and opened the drawer. His stomach dropped as he noticed a small Swiss Army Knife among the other paraphernalia. He sent up a small silent prayer of gratitude that Molly hadn’t seen or used that instead as she had feared. He spotted the key and went back to free his friend.

He knelt down in front of the arm but hesitated before he unlocked the cuffs. “Before I do, would you mind telling me why you attacked poor, defenceless Molly? After I practically had to beg her to come over here and talk you out of this… this… whatever mood this is that you’ve got going on right now.”

“I didn’t attack her, John, but she certainly thought I was. I could see it in her eyes, it’s why I let her do this” he jerked the wrist still cuffed to the chair. “And why I didn’t try chasing her again after that.”

“Yeah, sure you did.”

“Really, John. Do you really think I wouldn’t be able to get out of this _thing_ if I really tried? Do you think Molly Hooper would have been able to handcuff me in the first place if I hadn’t allowed it?”

“Okay, mate, you’re starting to scare me now. What is it exactly that you’ve taken and how much of it?”

“One of Mrs. Hudson’s _herbal soothers_. Just enough to make the last hour and a half slightly more interesting. That is, until Molly showed up and thought I was going to rape her.”

“Rape?” John asked, wondering why the detective had chosen that word specifically.

“Yes, it was obvious from her reaction. Molly has been attacked like that in the past, John. Do you know anything about it?”

John took in a deep breath. There was a time, ages ago that Molly had confided something very personal to him and had made him swear never to tell Sherlock.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, hmm?” John asked gently. “After you apologize for attacking her maybe.”

“Fine.” Sherlock pouted as John undid the handcuffs.

John went back downstairs where Molly was still sipping her tea and talking with Mrs. Hudson.

“Molly” John started from the doorway as she looked up in response “Sherlock wants to apologize and talk. It’s okay, I’ll stay outside the front door or in the kitchen, I’ll be right there if you call out.” He added when he saw the panic start to creep back into her eyes.

Molly nodded her head twice, then looked back up at John. “Are you sure he won’t do that again?”

“He’s promised, and like I said I’ll be right in the kitchen. If he does anything, call me or just shout and I’ll be there.” He said stepping closer to her and squeezing her shoulder.

“He’s doing drugs again, John.” Molly whispered.

“Just Mrs. Hudson’s herbal soothers, I’m surprised they even had an effect on him, but maybe we could try locking them up next time, Mrs. H.”

“Ooh, that would be nice if it’d work.” Mrs. Hudson tittered from her armchair.

“Come on, Molly.” John said tapping her shoulder slowly. She got up and John followed her out and up to 221B. He took a step back from the door and nodded at Molly letting her know that he would be right there.

Molly knocked twice on the door before she entered. Sherlock was still sitting in his chair, head bent over and held in both his hands.

“Sherlock” She whispered.

“Molly.” His head snapped up. “Molly I am sorry.” He said as he rushed over to her but stopped when he saw her take an unsteady step backwards. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.” He held his hands palm up in a show of surrender. “Please, sit down.” He motioned the chair.

Molly nodded and slowly made her way to the red tartan armchair that was once John’s, never truly taking her eye off the detective. Sherlock sat down opposite her in his armchair and took in a deep breath.

“Why did you run away from me like that, Molly?”

“You attacked me.” She said simply, almost shrugging her shoulders.

“It seemed like that, didn’t it? I didn’t mean too. I mean most people wouldn’t have reacted the way you did.” Sherlock observed, picking up the conversation he wanted.

“I’m not most people.” Molly grumbled glancing down at her admittedly fabulous shoes.

“I know.” Sherlock steepled his hands and relaxed back in his chair, analysing her next moves. “I’ve never thought of you as like most people.”

Molly looked at him, almost startled. Her gaze was a surprised one. Like she was discovering something new about him. Surely she must’ve known that she was very different to everyone else in his eyes?

“Why did you?” Sherlock asked.

“Did what?”

“React the way you did.” Sherlock clarified.

Molly actually did shrug now, but she looked down at her shoes again. She’s ashamed of something, Sherlock observed. “I just did.” She said. “Automatic reaction.”

“Only for people who’ve had a past experience of…” Sherlock started before it dawned on him what had happened to Molly. The pathologist only looked back at him as she too realised that Sherlock had deduced her past. She was amazed it had taken him this long to be honest, then again he didn’t really pay that much attention to her. “Molly?” He asked, his haunting eyes piercing straight to her soul.

“Yes, Sherlock.” She hesitated.

“What happened to you, Molly?” He was concerned now.

“It was ages ago Sherlock, forget it.”

“What happened, Molly?” He asked a little more sternly now.

“I was raped.” Molly whispered.

“What?” He was startled.

“I was raped, okay!” Molly shouted angrily now. Sherlock could hardly believe what she was telling him, and how could he have not known? Unless it happened while he was away. She was standing in between the two armchairs now.

“Molly… when?” was all he could muster.

“3rd April 2011.” She answered automatically. And suddenly it all became clear to Sherlock. The date was just two days after a particularly unforgettable experience. He hoped internally that he didn’t already know the answer to the next question he had.

“Who?” He looked up at her.

Molly closed her eyes and took a deep breath to control herself before she continued. “J…Moriarty.” She choked and closed her eyes pushing all the thoughts away. She heard Sherlock move in front of her, but was only aware of his actions when she felt his arms wrap around her. She placed her hands on his shoulders and took another deep breath, which was released as a sob, followed by tears. And suddenly she was having the biggest cry she’d ever had since her father had died. Even when she’d been raped, she hadn’t cried this much. Neither when Tom had left a few weeks ago, she hadn’t cried this hard. So why was she now crying so hard, it physically hurt, and even worse, in the arms of a man who thought emotions to be useless.

Sherlock eventually moved Molly to the couch where she continued to cry and sob. After one particularly loud sob John waked into the flat and actually punched Sherlock in the jaw before tending to Molly. Sherlock could have sworn he saw the edge of her lips twitch upwards slightly.

“Maybe next time you should make sure that Mrs. Hudson doesn’t supply alcohol to someone in distress, John.” Sherlock accused as he messaged the point where John’s fist had made contact with his face.

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t put anyone under distress, Sherlock!” John countered.

“I already told you, I-

“Enough.” Molly cut him off. “Sherlock’s right, I overreacted, he didn’t attack me in the first place.” Molly inhaled long and deep to try and steady her tears

John’s phone beeped just then signalling a message from Mary.

“I have to go, think you two will be okay on your own?” John asked looking at the two of them.

“We’ll be fine, thank you for your assistance.” Sherlock said acidly as he rubbed his jaw again, Molly simply nodded.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I did tell you I have bad days.” John joked.

Sherlock huffed as John left leaving the two alone to sort things out…hopefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest i'm not 100% happy with this chapter. if it interests you to know, the previous chapter and this one were supposed to be the same one and when it ran a bit long i split it into two, i was constantly trying to delve a little deeper into Molly's character and how the rape would have affected her and how she would have moved on from that but everything i wrote seemed like total rubbish so i pretty much left it at the crying and helpful (as much as he knows how to be) Sherlock. Please tell me what you think.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally get to talk in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 chapters in the space of 24 hours, I hope this is enough to redeem myself with all you readers.

Molly looked out the window of 221B expecting to see the afternoon sun but was surprised to find that it was nearing twilight. She briefly wondered how long she had been crying and why she hadn’t noticed so much time passing by.

“You actually dozed off for about an hour and a half. I’m fairly certain that it’s impossible but at the same time I’m sure you were crying in your sleep. I’ll need to research that.” He added as he made a mental note. “You woke up screaming which is why John came in a punched me.” Sherlock said from his usual armchair.

Molly took notice of the blooming bruise he had on his jaw and couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. “I’m sorry.” She said.

“Don’t be, I’m glad John took such a clever precaution if you were feeling so uneasy to be alone with me. Tea?” He asked constantly avoiding her eyes.

“Uh. Yeah.” She said after a moment of consideration at which her stomach growled in response. She hastily wrapped her arms over her abdomen trying to stifle the sound.

“Take away?” Sherlock asked from the kitchen with a small smile to himself. _Can’t have my Molly be hungry._ He thought. _She’s not your Molly, Sherlock._ A mental voice that sounded like Mycroft’s said and then it shifted into the voice that clearly haunted the both of them so regularly. _No, no, no. Sherlock. She’s not yours. She’s mine. I had her long before you did._ Moriarty’s Irish lilt resonated in his mind.

“Yes, please.” She answered pulling him out of his thoughts. _Might as well do this now while I still have the chance to do it face to face._ She thought suddenly remembering why she had come here in the first place and that she was due to leave in five days. It was now or never. She settled down on the tartan armchair again going over it in her head.

“Chinese good?”

“Yes, I’d like –” Molly started.

“Lemon chicken, noodles and wontons.” Sherlock deduced coming to stand next to the armchair and looking down at her with a smile.

“Yes.” She answered slowly, wondering how in the world he could have deduced that.

Sherlock finished the tea while he ordered and when he was done came to sit across from Molly in his armchair. “So I take it from your demeanour that you wish to talk, so talk.” He waved a hand at her.

“John came to my house yesterday, said that you’d been acting weird since… well, you know.”

“Ah, that” it took him a moment to register what she was referring to. “I was just bored, he was overdramatic, as usual.”

“Sherlock, what I said, the last time…”

“Completely deleted.” He assured her.

“No, no it’s not” She could tell when he was lying “I didn’t mean what I said about you ruining my life. I mean, in a way it is all your fault but I never meant to say any of it… like that.”

“Yes you did.” Sherlock countered. “No person, not even the most controlled human being, could be able to lie when they’re in such a state. And you were right, I did ruin your life.”

“I was? You did?” Molly was confused, had he just apologized in his own Sherlock way.

“Although, in all fairness you did sleep with me out of your own volition.” Sherlock clarified. No he certainly was not apologizing.

“Really, because I was drunk and you flirted with me knowing that I have a crush on you, what did you expect to happen? You took advantage of me.” Sherlock just smiled. Not one of those please-do-something-for-me smiles. No. He was smiling one of those there’s-a-serial-killer-on-the-loose-and-it’s-Christmas kind of smiles. “What?” Molly asked, suddenly very worried.

“I was under the impression that you’d moved on and was very happy with Tom actually. And I do not flirt, Molly Hooper. Also I was just as drunk, if not more so than you so if anyone took advantage of the other it would have been you taking advantage of me.” He explained clearly. Just as Molly was trying to make some semblance of sense out of what he’d just told her the doorbell rang with their take away.

Sherlock divided up the food and they ate in companionable silence for a while until Sherlock cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry I made you lie for me.” He whispered.

“What?”

“When you… told me to go away…You said ‘I broke the rules at work and possibly the law. I lied to my friends – to _our friends_ , Sherlock! I betrayed them.’” He quoted. “I’m sorry for making you a liar, Molly.”

“That is actually the bit I’m the most okay with, but apology accepted.”

“No, don’t be okay with it, Molly.” He begged. “I did something awful to you, much more awful than breaking up your engagement with Tom, yes that has been my intention since the moment I met him, you’re right there as well. But what I asked you to do for me when I asked you to tell everyone that I was dead, to keep my secret. I had no idea… how it would change you. I changed you and I didn’t want to because you were perfect, Molly Hooper, you were sweet and kind and honest, even when it pained you or someone else you were always honest and not because you knew you were a truly horrible liar, which you are by the way but that’s beside the point, you were honest because it was the right thing to do and I changed that. I turned you into a liar and a cheater and I am so incredibly sorry.” He finished.

Molly just looked at him. He was unable to read her expression or deduce anything about what she might do but that was part of her charm to him that despite his talents Molly was always a mystery to him.

“Thank you.” Molly said looking down.

“Finish your meal, Molly.” They both finished what was left of their meals in the silence that fell again. Molly not only digesting her food but also everything Sherlock had just told her and Sherlock trying to get some inkling of her next move.

His eyes took her in from top to bottom. She was exceptionally dressed and everything about her screamed ‘fuck me’ he could tell she had her ‘special’ underwear on underneath the dress and her shoes and bag had obviously been chosen to match. She’d gotten dressed with great care before coming over to talk to him. Was she trying to seduce him? No. Her clothes might say sex but her posture and expression say that that is the farthest thing from her mind right now. Had it been due to the events of the day? Probably. He had ‘attacked’ her and then there was that whole messy business with the rape issue. Sherlock made a mental note to make sure and draw out Moriarty’s punishment for that particular crime.

“Sherlock?” Molly’s voice broke him out of his thoughts yet again. He looked at her, raising his left eyebrow. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt or something.”

“No just thinking about a case I’ve just taken on, nothing important.” Sherlock waved it off. _It’s the most important thing in the world though isn’t it, Sherly._ The Moriarty voice piped up again.

“Are you done?” Molly asked as she stood up to clear her plate. Sherlock nodded and handed her his things about to sink into his thoughts again when he realised Molly wanted to ask something particular. He followed her into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator for something to do, trying to seem normal. As he was about to close it again, he spotted two beers. _Beer is normal, no?_  He thought. _Of course it’s normal, John drinks it all the time._

“Beer?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Ah, yeah sure.” Molly answered as she threw away the leftovers and carefully stacked the plates in the sink, with the rest of the dishes. “Don’t you have a dishwasher?” Molly asked curiously.

“Her name’s Mrs. Hudson.” He answered as he uncapped a beer and handed it to her.

“Sherlock, that’s awful” She laughed despite herself. “She really isn’t your housekeeper, you know?”

“Yet my dishes are always cleaned, my laundry always washed, my shopping always done, and my shelves always dusted.” They both laughed quietly, Molly turning a little more serious at the end.

“Sherlock?”

“Mm?”

“When you said that it’s been your intention to break up my engagement since you met Tom and when you said that he didn’t deserve me… did you… I mean, do you know something about him that I might not?”

“Ah… let’s just say you’re better off without him, Molly.”

“No.” She said “If there’s something you think I don’t know, then I want to know.”

Sherlock looked down for a moment thinking and then nodded to himself. “He’s not who you think he is.” He acquiesced finally.

“Who is he then?”

“I don’t know. It’s just that when you introduced him as Tom, I could tell that he was lying, it was all in his posture and his face. I tried digging into his past a little but I couldn’t find anything on him.”

“Because there wasn’t anything to find.” She took a swig of beer rather quickly and ended up choking on it.

“Exactly. There was nothing on a Tom Parks. No birth certificate, school records, nothing past 3 months prior to you meeting him.” Molly stopped coughing and looked up at Sherlock incredulously.

“When were you planning to tell me?”

“After John’s wedding.” He answered simply. “I was waiting on some information I needed Mycroft to get me. He said it would take a while.”

“So, everything he told me…?” She let the question drop.

“Was a lie.” Sherlock finished. “Most probably.”

Molly put the half empty bottle of beer on the counter. And turned back to Sherlock. She slowly put her arms around his neck and squeezed him close. “Thank you.” Came her muffled voice from somewhere near his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yeah! It's not the end but we're getting close now. Also in this story the timeline has changed a little bit to the canon one. 
> 
> *Spoilers ahead for anyone who's been living under a rock and hasn't seen season 3 yet*
> 
> Basically Moriarty's 'miss me?' performance happens before John's wedding, a little after The Empty Hearse and although it doesn't feature in this story it's actually something else that brings Sherlock back from his four minute exile after he shoots Charles Augustus Magnussen. So yeah just thought i'd clear that up in case you were confused.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you guys think.


End file.
